


if i could turn back time

by bevioletskies



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevioletskies/pseuds/bevioletskies
Summary: A collection of Peter/Gamora drabbles and one-shots that take place before, during, and after my previous fics, including AUs and prompt fills.Current update: Peter usually likes it when his life plays like an eighties movie, the kind his mother watched with him when he was too young to understand what it all meant. However, he could do without the cliché of sitting on the school bleachers, watching as Gamora, the girl he’s loved since they were children, kiss someone else.(Takes place beforedon’t you (forget about me), as requested by anonymous)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from the song [If I Could Turn Back Time](https://open.spotify.com/track/6mYrhCAGWzTdF8QnKuchXM?si=QYCyxp93RgCyj0RbH4GD5Q) by Cher.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Gamora have been married for five months, so really, it’s about time they go on their first date.
> 
> (Takes place after [everybody wants to rule the world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841176))

Gamora, despite being the former princess of the Titans, was never one for a life of luxury and whimsical fantasies. She lived on a modest ship, rotated between the same three white tank tops and two pairs of pleather leggings, and only indulged in sweets when her teammates felt like it. Even thinking back to the excess of her too-public wedding made her shudder in silent disgust; the amount of gold, the cakes and pastries, the cheek kisses and high-pitched shrieks of fake excitement across the room, it all made her stomach turn. However, as she sat in the large marble tub (it was gold-plated!) of her hotel suite at the Xandar Prime Plaza, soaking away the ever-present ache in her muscles and the insistent buzz in her brain, she had to admit - there was something about a good bath that almost made it feel like it was worth compromising her values.

She flipped idly through the Galaxian Gazette, enjoying the way the gently fragrant bath oils eased their way into her dry, cracked skin. The latest society dinner of her nightmares was to start in an hour, but she never needed much time to get ready, so she was perfectly content to stay right here for at least another twenty minutes. That is, until the door burst open.

“Peter!” she exclaimed, nearly dropping her newspaper into the water in surprise. “You need to knock.”

“Honey, I’ve seen you naked at least - ”

“Not the point,” Gamora interrupted firmly. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t find my tie. Y’know, the one with the little spaceships - ”

“Oh,” she groaned, tipping her head back to stare despondently at the ceiling like it had personally wronged her. “You had me thinking it was an emergency. And it’s in the front pocket of your carry-on.”

“It _was_ an emergency,” Peter insisted. His eyes flickered briefly to the newspaper. “Find anything interesting?”

“A small mention of our successful diplomatic trip to Baluur, but they misspelled your name,” Gamora said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “The letters section is intriguing. I assumed people wrote in with problems, maybe ones we could attend to, but it’s mostly just...expressions of sentiment. Fluff pieces.”

“Can I see?” he asked, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. She angled it so he could read over her shoulder, watching his expression change while he scanned the pages. “I mean, they’re nice. It’s romantic.”

“ _You_ would think so,” she snorted. “At least they’re a sight better than the direct mail we’ve received. The ship still smells like burnt hair, and it’s been at least a week.”

“What can I say? People love a prince,” Peter grinned.

“I’d call it more of an unhealthy obsession...and you’re not a prince anymore, _Captain_ ,” Gamora retorted, sinking deeper into the bathwater out of petulance. Though she’d meant it as an insult, the huskiness of her cadence made Peter shiver.

“I’ll leave you to it, _General_ ,” he said, teasing, brushing a kiss on the crown of her head and saluting her on the way out the door. Gamora rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help but look back to the letters, _thinking_ back to the letters Peter’s mother had written to him while she was in the hospital, and wondered in a sort of silly, whimsical, fantastical way, if Peter would ever write a letter for her. 

* * *

Dinner was the usual mind-numbing affair for the Guardians, who had become more accustomed to fistfights and all-out brawls than polite society and “how are you”s. Peter and Mantis were the most experienced with social gatherings, but still, both of them were itching to get back to the world they’d known for far shorter but far better, the world where they were heroes and not gods. It was a compromise, though; working alongside the Nova Corps meant showing up alongside the Nova Corps, and when they were called to a week-long series of conferences and meetings and dinners on Xandar, there was no saying no.

Peter and Gamora were making customary rounds as a couple, something they were still getting used to. After all, they’d been married for five months but truly together for two, and their public appearances had been pretty minimal when they were living on Ego together. It was one of the rare times where Gamora was more nervous than Peter, her fingernails digging welts into the crease of his elbow while they walked, desperately hoping no one wanted to talk to them. Unfortunately, they weren’t so lucky.

“Captain, General, what a...surprise that you’re both here,” one particular dour-looking man sniffed, completely stone-faced. “After the last incident, I wasn’t expecting Nova Prime to invite you back.”

“Nova Prime loves us, Councilman,” Peter said, his mouth tight, his syllables sharp. “I hear we’re a hit with everyone’s kids.”

“Speaking of children - ” another pair of pinch-faced diplomats came sauntering up to them, practically circling them like they were prey; Gamora instinctively took a step back. An army of soldiers, she could handle. Politicians, less so. “There’s been talk lately.”

“There’s been talk since the day we married,” Gamora said coolly. “Talk means nothing.”

“You _must_ know how it looks to people,” the other diplomat added. “The sudden marriage, the death of your fathers - ”

“Thanos was never my father. He was a man who made the mistake of calling himself such,” Gamora continued, colder still. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Without another word, she took Peter’s hand and led him away toward the bar, in need of a strong drink to drown out the whispers, or rather, the snide comments that some people felt far too bold about making to her face.

“Almost makes me miss the days where the most ‘duties’ I ever had were just...flying into the capital and hanging out with my people. At least _they_ didn’t try to tell me my marriage isn’t real,” Peter sighed, sinking into a barstool. He waved the bartender over, calling for two of something with a kick.

Gamora knocked back her drink in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know this sounds strange coming from me, but you can’t blame them, Peter. No one believes our marriage was a product of love, and no one cares to listen to the fact it was the reverse. It’s natural for them to question our legitimacy. I know _I_ would.”

The tightness in Peter’s shoulders went slack as he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Yeah, I guess. And I guess it doesn’t help we don’t do much outside of Guardians work, either. Y’know, dates and stuff.”

“Peter...just because I can see what _they_ see, doesn’t mean we have to prove anything to them,” Gamora said slowly, setting her glass down. “We agreed that our new lives were about helping others, not about us being put up on pedestals all over again. The worship your people had for you, the fear my people had for me, it’s over. Feeding into their gossip means feeding a vicious, unrelenting beast.” She paused to glance over her shoulder at the prying eyes she could feel lingering on her back, the eyes that immediately turned another direction the moment she looked at them. It was far more people than she wanted to _ever_ look at her, period.

“It’s not about that,” he promised. “We just...we did our whole relationship backwards, right? And there were all these things we did together that _felt_ like dates, but weren’t really. Hanging out in the gardens, reading my mom’s letters together...hell, our engagement party was kind of a date, once we stopped thinking about what it actually was.” He took her hands in his, held them flat against his chest so she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. Gamora briefly remembered the day she’d held his hands like this while he was bleeding out in her lap. She shuddered. “Look, we’re on Xandar, we don’t got any galaxy-saving to do this week, so let’s just have a nice dinner out, you and me, without all this fake diplomatic crap.”

“That actually sounds kind of pleasant,” Gamora admitted, cracking a small smile. “Tomorrow, then?”

“It’s a date,” Peter grinned in return. “Our first _real_ date.”

* * *

Right away, Peter and Gamora decided to keep it far more casual than the glitz and glam of the previous night, where they’d been wearing ties and cufflinks, earrings and stilettos, when they were more accustomed to worn cotton T-shirts and leather jackets with suspicious holes in them. Peter also chose a much calmer venue, one that didn’t involve sky-high columns and polished tile; instead, it was the quaint little restaurant they’d visited during the opening week of Mantis’s outreach center, small and cozy and decidedly intimate.

“This is _much_ better,” Gamora said, relieved, once they were sat at their table. A small tealight flickered between them, harshly illuminating the planes of their faces. There was a long crack running along the surface, from Peter’s left thumb to Gamora’s right elbow. The tables were so crammed together, she was certain if she ducked her head a little too fast, her forehead would hit Peter’s, and she could feel their knees brushing together with every move they made. It was perfect. “I know you thrive with attention, but I certainly don’t.”

“Honestly? I was getting kinda uncomfortable, too,” Peter admitted. “And you _also_ know I didn’t like how my people worshipped me for...I dunno, existing. Feels good to be actually _doing_ something now. Something real.”

“Right,” she said abashedly. “I shouldn’t act like you’re immune. None of us are.”

“But for now...we get to be ourselves, ‘cos you know what? No one’s looking,” he grinned, gesturing around them. She glanced around, and indeed, there was no uncomfortable chill through her spine, no hairs sticking up on the back of her neck, no sweat breaking out on her brow that told her someone wanted to scrutinize her for all the things they thought she was and wasn’t. “So let’s order some food. Somethin’ real messy ‘cos we can.”

Twenty minutes later, Gamora was making her way through a hearty bowl of pasta, hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing too much while Peter recounted the anecdotes Yondu had told him about his Ravager days as inappropriate bedtime stories. It was still strange for her to think about how different their lives had been less than a year ago, oblivious to each other’s existence, and oblivious of what they were capable of. She didn’t want to remember the time where her only significant interactions with others were being dragged into training sessions and being told that she and Nebula were to hurt each other until they were raw.

She liked this far more, the surprising ease of their conversation, the steady warmth of their presence. It wasn’t just Peter, though she loved him, of course, but how much she revelled in the companionship of the entire team. There was something genuine about the way Peter and Rocket snapped at each other during frosty mornings when the Milano’s engine froze over, or Mantis’s enthusiasm for cooking despite being sort of terrible at it (and the way Drax bluntly told her it was awful, while Groot grinned through the stomach pain). It was a stark contrast between their private lives and public lives, and she hated to think what would happen if the lines were ever blurred.

“Don’t look now, but I think I see a camera.” Gamora didn’t know her heart could sink so much at the sound of Peter’s voice, an itch beginning to form in her throat from the temptation of wanting to turn around. “Crap, how did they - ”

“Another patron, most likely,” she said, slowly setting her fork down. “We should leave quietly. No need to make a scene.”

She spoke too soon, however - or perhaps too late - as Peter was getting out of his chair, advancing on the offender with a camera that looked dangerously professional (and expensive). Sometimes, she forgot how intimidating he could look when he wanted to be, his wide shoulders hunched forward, his stride long and thundering against the old wooden floor. His fists clenched and unclenched reflexively, momentarily forgetting that his Celestial powers were long gone.

“Hey,” Peter barked. “You mind not starin’ at my wife? I know she’s really something, but - ”

“Captain Quill.” _Click, click_ went the camera; the photographer, or more accurately, the paparazzo seemed to have no shame. “You’ll forgive me for not listening to you.”

“Doubt it,” he snapped. “Leave us alone, we’re just tryin’ to have a quiet night out.”

“You two are so strange,” the other man said, letting out a tittering laugh. He lowered his camera somewhat so his beady eyes could meet Peter’s. “Pretending that killing two warmongers absolves you of killing millions of innocents. Pretending your marriage wasn’t just a scheme to distract everyone from your crimes against the galaxy. Pretending your allegiance with the Nova Corps is deserved.” He stood, towering over Peter. “Think about how many of your people are dead, _your highness_. Think about the dozens your precious wife killed by her own hand before you even met.”

“That’s it!” Peter roared. In one swift move, he pinned the man down, pressing his elbow into his throat until he was gasping, splayed out across his table and startling his companion. Everyone else let out shouts of surprise, scattering immediately, while a waiter went running into the kitchen for the owner, and the hostess went running for the phone.

Gamora shot out of her seat, running to grab Peter by the arm and yanking him back. “Enough, Peter!” she shouted. “I’ve already told you, this gets us nowhere. Leave him. He doesn’t deserve our attention.”

“You’re a clever one, your highness,” the man sneered, though his spite was lost in the hoarseness of his voice, sitting up and straightening out his shirt collar. Gamora wordlessly pulled Peter away from him fully, pressing a generous amount of units into the owner’s hand when she emerged from the kitchen, red in the face.

“My apologies,” Gamora said awkwardly, though sincerely, bowing her head. When the owner merely glared at Peter in a way that made even Gamora wince, the two of them left, shamefaced and shivering in the chilly Xandarian night. 

* * *

Peter barely heard a word out of Gamora during the rest of the week, aside from their obligatory duties, and he couldn’t blame her. He had apologized in the ride back to the hotel, the elevator ride to their room, and while they brushed their teeth side-by-side in the bathroom, but she still snatched up a pillow, shoved it into his chest, and informed him that the couch was his.

In his opinion - and probably Gamora’s - his temper was one of his biggest flaws, one he found irrationally difficult to control, and it certainly got him in more trouble with her than he wanted to admit to. He was getting better, though, and Gamora’s temper, too, was levelling off as they grew together, and he wanted to prove that he wasn’t the overly-sensitive, tantrum-throwing boy he’d been when she first met. He was a changing, if not necessarily a fully changed, man. It was hard not to be after all they’d been through.

 _Knock knock_. Gamora let out a long, arduous sigh. At least he was learning. “What do you want, Peter?” she called through the bathroom door. It was the last evening before they finally got to leave Xandar and journey off to their next mission, there was one more self-congratulatory charity event starting in about two hours, and she was having another well-deserved bath.

“Got the Galaxian Gazette for you.”

Gamora stared down the length of the tub at her toes peeking out through the water. “Come in.” Peter did so immediately, pressing the newspaper into her outstretched hand. He sat opposite her on the window nook. “...is there something else?”

“Saw something interesting in the letters section, thought you might wanna read.” He shrugged with all the subtlety of Groot attempting to tiptoe to the Milano’s fridge in search of cake. Still, Gamora decided to entertain him and flipped to the aforementioned page, scanning until she found what he was talking about, and _oh_ , it was _very_ clear what he was talking about.

_To my wife,_

_I remember our first date like it was yesterday (or at least, as of the day I’m writing this). In short, it was terrible, but when you’re you and I’m me, I guess it’s inevitable. I would say that our next one will be better, but that’s too optimistic, even for me._

_I also remember our wedding - your dad didn’t bother showing up, and_ **_my_ ** _dad was following us like a shadow. We argued through our first dance, and your brother started a huge fight before the song was over. You know what, I’m starting to see a pattern._

 _Anyways, I’m pretty sure they charge by the word for these things so I’ll keep it short: we may have married for power, but I would do it all over again for love. Instead of me apologizing for the thousandth time, let’s try this again. But this time, you choose what you want. All_ **_I_ ** _want is you._

_Love, your captain_

Gamora felt the corners of her mouth twitch, daring her to smile. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to give Peter the satisfaction, though when he put his broad hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze, massaging the heels of his palms into her shoulder blades, she was about ready to forgive him for anything and everything.

Gamora tilted her head upwards to meet his gaze. “We’re practically still children, Peter. What are we doing here, pretending we deserve a seat at the table?”

“Hey, _you_ deserve it more than anybody.” He moved around to sit in front of her, his expression painfully earnest. “We talked about this. You saved billions of lives, helped kill _two_ genocidal maniacs. The entire galaxy is safer ‘cos you decided to do somethin’ about it. The rest of us were pretty much just along for the ride.”

“Don’t downplay your contributions,” she insisted, lifting her hand to his cheek. “We’re a team, are we not? There’s no room for doubt.”

“Did you hear yourself two seconds ago?” Peter teased. He placed his hand over hers; her fingers were still slightly damp from the water, warm to the touch. “Anyways, I guess we’re never gonna get peace and quiet unless we go to the most remote planet in the universe, so we gotta just...learn to live with it.”

“Says the attention-seeker,” Gamora retorted, though she leaned in to kiss him anyway. “It’s time we focus on ourselves. We don’t let the press, the public, or anyone else trick us into thinking we deserve less than what we want. Because we do. We do, and we will.”

“You should do big speeches more often,” he murmured against her lips, letting out a quiet grunt of protest when she pulled away. “Speaking of what you want...any ideas for our second date?”

Gamora smiled then, almost impish, and Peter felt his heart melt all over again, watching her move backward in the tub so her back was against the wall, her silhouette backlit by the large window, the water sloshing precariously over the edge. She smirked. “We have at least another hour before we have to get dressed, and I believe this bathtub is big enough for two.”

Peter laughed, reaching to pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’m starting to think I should always ask you first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! I've had requests all the way back to [20 questions](https://archiveofourown.org/series/823920) about writing fic continuations, ranging from my AUs to my prompt fills, so I decided to finally start! Some of these will be of one-shot length like this one and some will be much shorter. Unlike my prompt fills, all of them will be compiled here as chapters for a couple reasons: a) I don't want to branch everything off into multiple series, especially since I think of these as extensions rather than full-on continuations and b) I'll very quickly run out of songs if I give each one its own fic title. I'll change the fic summary with every new update!
> 
> All that aside, I have such a soft spot for my RTW 'verse and I thought touching on what their lives would be like in the aftermath would be fun to explore! The next one will be a drabble that takes place before [don't you (forget about me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186155), which I believe I'll be posting next week, though I won't be able to post super consistently. My semester is quite heavy this time around, and my main fic focus is on [across the universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378558) (even though it doesn't seem to have much interest, I'm enjoying that one all the same, haha). I also won't necessarily be taking requests, but if there are suggestions in the comments or from Tumblr asks, I may end up writing it!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snapshot of Peter and Gamora’s relationship, circa Gamora’s last year of high school.
> 
> (Takes place before [don't you (forget about me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186155))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this takes place before the entire fic as a whole, it does reference the flashback from chapter seven.

Gamora shuffled across the old leather couch, soft to a fault, and winced at the awful noise it made as her pants dragged against the grain of the fabric. She supposed if Peter had heard, he would have a terribly unclassy flatulence joke to make right about now.

“I think _someone_ ate too many Parthean peppers at dinner last night!” Oh, there it was. She glared across the room at him where he was smiling smugly from behind the cash register, and only hoped that her expression conveyed exactly how much she wasn’t in the mood. His dopey grin didn’t falter, though, and he stepped around the counter to move closer. _Too_ close, almost; she could smell his subpar cologne and his far more pleasant shampoo, could name all the colors in his eyes. “Y’know, you don’t really _look_ sick. And if you _were_ sick, you’d be at home, in bed, like a normal person.”

“How observant,” she said snippily, swatting him aside before their noses could touch (she’d long gotten used to his lack of personal space, but something about this particular occurrence made her oddly nervous). She leaned over the arm of the couch to grab her backpack and heft it onto her lap, digging through it for her textbook and pencil case. The tension in her brow, however, melted away, and she looked resignedly at her bag, though he could tell she wasn’t really looking at anything at all. “Promise me you won’t say anything to Tanak and Mexa.”

“I - yeah, okay,” he said, the mirth in his voice turning into concern, and he sat beside her. “What’s up?”

“I’m not really sick,” Gamora confessed. “At least, not in the physical sense. It’s just...I know I’m only months away from finishing school, but...it’s hard when everyone looks at me a certain way. It’s hard when everyone thinks I’m a murderer.”

Peter’s heart sank; he never quite knew what to say whenever Gamora brought it up. He was certain he’d done alright the first time they talked about the rumors and falsehoods of her short-lived years with Thanos, sitting on Yondu’s porch while the sun set, leaning into each other, and he’d told her they both deserved to get out of here, wherever “here” meant. After years of drifting apart through their tumultuous formative years, they had never felt closer than they did in that moment. Other times, it felt like she was pulling away, and he wasn’t sure if they’d ever be that close again.

“I guess I could take the cliche route and tell you it don’t matter what other people think, but I know it doesn’t mean anything,” Peter said slowly. His fingers twitched involuntarily; he so badly wanted to reach out and rest a comforting hand on her back, but they didn’t have that kind of friendship. Lately, he wasn’t sure if they had any kind of friendship at all, really. “So you aren’t sick, you’re hidin’ from school _and_ your parents, which - _you_ , of all people, what the hell - what’re you doin’ _here_ , hanging out with me?”

Gamora’s voice broke. “I wanted to remind myself that there are people who will look at me the same way they always did.”

“Of course,” he said automatically, moving even closer so their knees were brushing. She supposed it was the gravity of the situation - or perhaps Peter’s growing maturity - that stopped him from commenting on the squeak of his jeans on the dreaded couch. “Hey, look, we don’t hafta hang around here. Yondu can live without me running the store for a few hours, let’s go, I dunno, get ice cream or something.”

She shook her head, shooting him a watery half-smile. “I need normalcy, Peter. I need something real. I need to sit here and do my homework while I listen to your awful music and your awful attempts at flirting with the poor girls who come in here, just wanting to sell their mother’s jewelry out of spite.”

“Neither of those things are awful, and you know it,” Peter declared, getting to his feet. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she said, wiping hastily at her damp eyes, hoping she hadn’t actually shed any tears. She’d cried enough the first time it happened, and the tenth time it happened. She didn’t need to cry anymore. She didn’t want to. “You know Yondu would have your head if you lost even a single potential sale.”

“Yondu would lose _his_ head if he knew people were giving you crap,” he added, though he moved back to the counter, still eyeing her warily. “Surprised I haven’t heard anything about Nebula or Mantis doin’ something about it.”

“Your sister is far kinder than anyone deserves, so she won’t. _My_ sister and I aren’t on good terms, though saying so implies that we once were.” Gamora picked at one of the diagrams in her textbook, watching the ink scratch and flake away beneath her long fingernail.

“Does that make us neutral ground?” Peter said half-jokingly, though he knew it was true. Their childhood connection had been circumstance, while their current “friendship” was barely hanging on by a thread. She’d said that he looked at her the same way he always did, but it seemed like _she_ was looking at _him_ differently these days, scrutinizing him closer than ever before, and he wasn’t sure what for. He had hopes, of course, for what it meant, his heart thumping wildly in his chest whenever her dark gaze was fixated on him, but it was nothing more than a wild fantasy, an idea that would never come to be.

“It makes us impartial,” she said. She turned her attention to her homework, oblivious to the crack in Peter’s expression, the faltering of his ever-present, easygoing grin. “But...as I said...you’re a good person, Peter Quill. And I trust that you always will be.”

Oh, there it was, that drumming against his ribcage, his heart skipping in the way that made him feel like the bright-eyed protagonist out of a young-adult novel, the kind he’d never cared for (but Mantis had far too many of), and his smile returned. “I can promise that, too. Y’know, if you want.”

“I do,” she said, looking up to smile ever-so-slightly at him. Grinning in the sort of fashion that made Gamora immediately suspicious, Peter leaned over to turn on the store’s speaker system, knowing it was creaky and whiny and downright terrible, doing every word and every beat of every song absolutely no justice, and then pressed play.

_Listen baby, ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby..._

_If you need me call me no matter where you are, no matter how far, don't worry, baby..._

_Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry, you don't have to worry..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little conversation about Peter and Gamora's respective headspaces! A lot of the random ideas I have floating around for additions to previous fics are mostly just conversations that I didn't have the room or appropriate placement for because I love inner monologues far too much.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter, the (self-designated) most popular student host on their college radio station, has been dedicating at least one song per morning shift to his new girlfriend, the assistant editor of their college newspaper. Gamora, said girlfriend, has been secretly pleased by this development - not that she’s going to tell _him_ that.
> 
> (Takes place after [teach me, please teach me tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422271), as requested by anonymous)

_He’s doing it again._

_Doing what?_

_Talking about you. On the radio. Does he have no dignity left in those fragile Terran bones of his?_

_Be nice, Nebula. And why are you listening to his show if you hate him so much?_

_...I don’t have to answer to you, sister._

Gamora neatly slid her phone back into the front pocket of her bookbag, determined not to let anything else distract her, and turned back to her laptop. She had two documents open, split-screen and side-by-side; one was her psychology paper, the other, her latest article for the newspaper. Unfortunately, her recent promotion to assistant editor hadn’t done her any favors in terms of her workload, meaning she still had to write something worthwhile once a week on top of her five-course semester and the half-dozen clubs and organizations she was in. She leaned back for a moment to run her schedule through her head - she had a sociology lecture at 11, a lunch meeting with the pre-law club at 12:30, an office visit with her economics professor at 2, a kickboxing class at the on-campus gym at 4…

“Gamora!” She startled, turning in her swivel chair to see Bereet and Carina looking at her with identical expressions of glee. “Don’t you want to hear what song is on today?”

“Not really, no,” Gamora drawled, swivelling back around. Carina caught the back of her chair before she could make the full rotation.

“Your boyfriend is such a romantic,” Carina sighed. She was practically swooning; Gamora didn’t know how to feel about that. “Listen!”

Before she could protest, Carina held out her phone, open to the radio app, and Peter’s cheerful voice greeted them at near-full volume. “This one is for all the brown-eyed girls out there, but I’m dedicating it to one brown-eyed girl in particular. You know who you are.”

_Hey, where did we go?...days when the rains came_

_Down in the hollow...playin' a new game_

_Laughing and a running, hey, hey...skipping and a jumpin’_

_In the misty morning fog with our hearts a thumpin' and you...my brown-eyed girl_

Gamora, who was resolutely _not_ blushing, nudged Carina’s phone out of her face. “We have deadlines to meet. I suggest you return to your work before I report you for misuse of time.” Bereet and Carina grumbled to one another but went back to their desks with identical reluctant strides.

Her phone went off in her bookbag again, vibrating insistently. In turn, she ignored it.

It was a fresh start to a new semester, and things were definitely...different from the last. For one thing, she and Peter had no classes together this time, though with her being pre-law and him being in education, the chances of it happening again were slim to none. They had been dating for about a month now, still testing the waters on what their relationship was meant to be. Between Gamora’s growing list of responsibilities, her tentative reparations between her and her sister, and Peter’s preparation for applying to graduate, they really hadn’t seen each other much despite recent developments. The songs on the radio, unsurprisingly, had been his idea of keeping “their connection alive” (his words, not hers. Again, unsurprisingly).

The first song had been easy enough - _Dance With Me_ , the first one he’d ever played for her, the one she listened to on his Walkman when she first visited the radio station. Then it became a slew of typical love songs from his native Terra, ones that were especially popular, according to him - _Let’s Stay Together, I Want To Hold Your Hand, Right Here Waiting_ \- and there had been that one morning where Peter had unashamedly belted out his own rendition of _I Think We’re Alone Now_ , and Gamora had to remind him while he had left his dignity behind long ago, she wanted to graduate with hers intact.

Despite her protests, she did appreciate the effort. No one had ever gone out of their way to do such a thing for her, and Peter’s earnest, open-hearted nature had been what ultimately captivated her interest in the first place. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be embarrassed by it all the same.

“Terran mating rituals are so strange,” she sighed into the phone when she finally collapsed into her bed that night. She and Peter usually chatted while she walked home, and this time, he’d spent the last ten minutes dissecting the lyrics of _Brown Eyed Girl_ while she absorbed approximately thirty seconds of his spiel before giving up. “Must they be so...public?”

He paused to take a breath. “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”

“No.” _Yes._ “Slightly.” _Definitely._ “I do feel a little bad that I don’t have something of equal meaning for you.” Now _that_ was true.

“It doesn’t have to be a competition,” he said. She could practically hear him shrugging. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Peter, I...I just don’t know how to be a good girlfriend.” Gamora fell quiet for a moment, hating how honest she’d suddenly become. “You’ve taken to being my boyfriend quite easily, but I’m not very good at this. Affection, sentiment...you know. Normalcy.”

“Hey,” he protested, his voice impossibly soft. “Hey, no, you’re an awesome girlfriend. Look, I’m kinda new to this, too. Relationships weren’t really my thing, you know? Not until you. And you, you’ve got a lot of stuff goin’ on in your life, and I’m super proud of you, and I totally get that you’ve gotta deal with all of that first. I’m fine with coming second.” He paused. “Okay, so that sounded like somethin’ else and I _swear_ that’s not what I meant - ”

“Peter,” she interrupted firmly before he could embarrass himself further, though she was starting to wonder if he had any semblance of shame. Her face heated at his implications. “I appreciate the generosity, but I still feel like I’ve been lacking.”

“Then you can make it up to me,” he offered. “Come over to the station during one of my night shifts, we’ll get crappy takeout and cheap alcohol. I’ll bring the antacids, you bring a song of your choice.”

She smiled, her grip on her phone finally starting to relax. “I like the sound of that, actually. Friday?”

“It’s a date,” he declared, grinning.

“One condition,” she added before they could exchange goodbyes.

“Anything,” he said immediately.

Her smile widened, teasing. “If you hum the introduction to _Careless Whisper_ as a segue into the song dedication sequence one more time, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” he grumbled under his breath, though he brightened right after. “G’night, Gamora. Call me tomorrow?”

“Goodnight, Peter,” she murmured. “I will.”

The rest of the week passed by slower than she liked, and yet still not slow enough. Everything was starting to pile up on her, every due date and every deadline that she worked so hard to meet, all glaring up at her in blindingly red ink from the pages of her personal planner. Friday arrived sooner than expected, but again, not soon enough.

Gamora arrived at the radio station with her bookbag on one arm and the aforementioned greasy takeout on the other, smiling politely at the student employees who greeted her as she passed by on the way inside. She still didn’t know any of them by name yet, but there was something comforting about them recognizing her and saying hello instead of averting their gazes or avoiding crossing her path like people unfortunately did quite often. She was, after all, still known as a daughter of Thanos.

“Gamora!” Peter was immediately shushed by the station tech, gesturing impatiently at the broadcasting booth where the current radio host was working. “Crap, sorry - hey, it’s good to see you.” He got up from the worn loveseat she’d grown to become familiar with so he could wrap his arms around her, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. She found herself smiling into his chest, hugging him in return despite her hands being full.

“I’m glad to see you as well. This week has been so stressful,” she admitted, joining him back on the couch. She had to shove aside a whole pile of empty vinyl sleeves and an array of notes in Peter’s chicken scratch handwriting to make room. “What are you working on today?”

“My psychology paper and the radio programming for next week. Bunch of clubs are rolling out recruitment ads, and _everyone_ wants more airtime than everyone else,” he sighed, turning his laptop to show her the dozens of request emails in his inbox, unread. “Please tell me you don’t have any demands of your own.”

“I’m pretty sure that would be considered some form of nepotism,” she remarked, sipping her iced tea as she passed Peter his takeout order. “And yet another reason why the newspaper is more lucrative than the radio, since everyone’s ads are given the same amount of space in both print and on the website.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re never gonna convert me, no matter how much you try,” he said, pointing his fork at her, before digging into his food. “And I’m guessing _you_ are never gonna take my suggestion for having the station play on the website, are you?”

“Nepotism,” she repeated with a lighthearted chuckle, taking a bite of her own. “Besides, the girls at the newspaper are more obsessed with you than I’m comfortable with. I’d rather not enable them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling with the sort of fondness that made her involuntarily smile.

“Hardly. There’s nothing to be jealous of,” she murmured. Grinning, he leaned in further to kiss her properly, setting down his styrofoam container so he could cup her jawline and tilt her chin upwards to meet him. To his surprise, she deepened the kiss, turning her head slightly for a better angle, only breaking apart when the station tech cleared their throat.

“Hey, uh…” She was pleased to hear his voice was a little bit hoarser than it had been a moment ago. “Did you actually end up finding a song? I was mostly joking, but if you have something - ”

“I did, actually. The old Nova archives informed me of its status as another Terran classic, I’m sure you know it already.” She smiled softly. “It was a nice little mental exercise, considering everything else I had to do this week. I think I get it now, why you like playing songs for me every day.” She reached over to take his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Of course,” he said, squeezing back. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“It might be a little _too_ much to your taste,” she warned, pulling out her phone and pressing play, shooting an apologetic glance in the station tech’s direction in advance.

The first few notes began to play, and Peter burst into raucous laughter; he would’ve slapped his knee in joy if he wasn’t already holding her hand. “Oh, man. You got good taste, Gamora. Maybe I should let you plan my playlists sometime.”

“No,” she said dryly, though her cheeks warmed at the sound of his delight. Gamora felt the tension melt out of her shoulders as if to remind herself how easy it was to be with him sometimes, how good it felt to be happy with someone else. It quickly turned into feigned eyerolls and sustained giggles when he began to belt the words at the top of his lungs. She hummed along to accompany him. The station tech looked vaguely murderous.

_We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder_

_We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under_

_Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better_

_We belong, we belong, we belong together_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute since I've written Peter/Gamora but no matter what universe we're in, I am always here for soft phone conversations and their mutual worry of whether they're being a good significant other! Songs in this chapter (including those that were only mentioned) are [Brown Eyed Girl](https://open.spotify.com/track/3yrSvpt2l1xhsV9Em88Pul?si=8EokkYlxRqKREvVw2l7Onw) by Van Morrison, [Dance With Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/2GORop0i2cyx8C0A3JzL44?si=hiCVkdWtQUGAXRe1jzuPMA) by Orleans, [Let's Stay Together](https://open.spotify.com/track/63xdwScd1Ai1GigAwQxE8y?si=0QkbfeP8QyKFW9FvZBOIbg) by Al Green, [I Want To Hold Your Hand](https://open.spotify.com/track/4pbG9SUmWIvsROVLF0zF9s?si=B7Kf7fZtTOqfmUCNrdl_KQ) by The Beatles, [Right Here Waiting](https://open.spotify.com/track/4LFwNJWoj74Yd71fIr1W8x?si=EwvULbjvRoCLWWhW5yQXdA) by Richard Marx, [Careless Whisper](https://open.spotify.com/track/4jDmJ51x1o9NZB5Nxxc7gY) by George Michael, and [We Belong](https://open.spotify.com/track/665Jxlgi1HamPKbW1vwzx4?si=pb5GZAoGTDSCFFHVDIFDFw) by Pat Benatar. Also, please imagine Peter singing [I Think We're Alone Now](https://open.spotify.com/track/4uvjOKsp7mSjrDhWdkLPBY?si=KjJM864hTraEQli0nuUEFQ) by Tiffany into a hairbrush with me.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter usually likes it when his life plays like an eighties movie, the kind his mother watched with him when he was too young to understand what it all meant. However, he could do without the cliché of sitting on the school bleachers, watching as Gamora, the girl he’s loved since they were children, kiss someone else.
> 
> (Takes place before [don’t you (forget about me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15186155/chapters/35218499), as requested by anonymous)

Peter tapped his foot impatiently against the metal rung of the bleacher seat directly in front of him, making the whole frame rattle precariously as if it were going to fall apart any second. His lunch, a half-decent sandwich from the school cafeteria, sat on his left side, his Walkman on his right. A couple of bright-eyed classmates of his from the dance team walked by, waving up at him in greeting. He responded with slightly less enthusiasm than usual, his mind occupied with the possibilities of what had happened to his sister and her best friend.

Unlike the many clichés that sibling relationships were often characterized by, he and Mantis were undoubtedly close, and they ate lunch together almost every day. That often included Gamora as well, but not Gamora’s sister, who was more likely to spit in Peter’s food than eat with him. Today, however, they were over fifteen minutes late and hadn’t responded to any of Peter’s texts asking if they were still coming. He couldn’t help but worry about what could’ve happened - a fight, maybe? Detention? An accident? None of it seemed that likely, given Gamora’s carefulness and Mantis’s obsessiveness, but it was still a possibility.

Sighing, Peter reached for his Walkman, skipping through the first few songs before they could even get a single beat in; he’d memorized the tape by heart many years ago. He leaned back, propping his elbows up on the bleacher seat behind him, and let the music play while he continued to wait, his stomach grumbling in protest at his refusal to eat until they arrived.

_They came at night leaving fear behind, shadows were on the ground_

_Nobody knew where to find him, no evidence was found_

Another classmate called out to him with a cheerful hello, then another, and another. Peter liked the feeling of being the “big man on campus”, liked that he was known as the approachable, sometimes silly, somewhat reliable senior that other students could talk to and hang out with, but he was really only looking for two specific people at the moment, and it was starting to look like they were never going to come.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar yelp, and he looked over to see Mantis had tripped on her way up the bleachers to him. Her cheeks reddened, but she grinned at him anyway, skipping up the steps two at a time and plopping down by his side. “Sorry we’re late!” she exclaimed. “Gamora got a note in her locker and we were talking about what to do about it and - ”

“A note about what?” Peter interrupted. “From who?”

“About meeting up during lunch...it was from Richard,” Mantis replied. If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d say her tone was strangely suggestive. “She is out there with him now, look!”

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Peter followed Mantis’s gaze to the middle of the expansive playing field, and watched Gamora approach the gaggle of sophomore boys wearing matching letterman jackets. Her stride was as calm and confident as always, but she glanced back at the bleachers to look at Mantis, apprehension in her eyes. Mantis merely gave her an overzealous thumbs up in return.

Richard - athletic, charming, handsome Richard - shooed away his friends once he saw her, chiding them for their teasing, and turned his attention back on Gamora, smiling winningly. She looked unimpressed, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him in a way that felt familiar to Peter. His stomach ached.

“What...what does he wanna talk to Gamora about, anyway? They don’t have classes together this semester or nothin’,” Peter grumbled, purposefully obtuse.

Mantis fixed him with a look. “I think it’s nice that he is _finally_ going to ask her out. Unlike _some_ people.”

_"I'm never coming back," they heard him cry, and I believe him_

_Well, he never meant to do anything wrong, it's gonna get worse if he waits too long_

“Don’t.” Peter shook his head. “I just think he’s a jerk, okay? It has nothing to do with - ”

He cut himself off at the sight of Gamora’s arms falling to her sides, Richard taking another step closer, his hand lifting to tenderly cup her jaw, her standing on her toes, both their eyes closing in anticipation, and then -

“Aww,” Mantis cooed, sighing audibly.

“Don’t know what she sees in him,” Peter said, more to himself than to her. Mantis had heard enough of his griping at home, doing it at school was a terrible idea when anyone could overhear. “I mean, he’s a good-looking dude, but what else has he got?”

“A man,” Mantis corrected. Another dreamy sigh from her, another groan from him. “Richard is not a dude, he is a man. Look at his arms!”

“I’d rather not.” Peter unwrapped his sandwich and took a disgruntled bite. It was a little too warm now that it had been sitting out in the sun; the taste had gone a bit sour. “Oh, crap, they’re coming over - ”

Mantis giggled as Peter flailed around in his attempts to pause his Walkman and shove his bag aside to make room, watching as he nearly tumbled head over heels quite literally. Gamora and Richard approached the bottom of the bleacher stairs, simultaneously raising their eyebrows at Peter’s poor attempt to regain his balance.

“You okay there, man?” Richard asked with an awkward chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m - ” Peter straightened up, neatly tucking his Walkman back into his bag. “I’m good. You, uh, you joining us for lunch today?”

“Nah. I was just telling Gamora about the new deli that opened that’s like, two blocks from here, so we’re gonna head over. Hopefully grab something before class starts,” Richard said, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

Gamora fixed him with a withering look. “I refuse to be late. If the wait is too long, I’m just going to leave.”

“Relax,” he chuckled. “I got my eye on the time, don’t worry about it.” He turned back to Peter and Mantis. “Anyway, I might join you guys sometime, just not today. See you around?”

“Wait,” Gamora interjected, tugging on the sleeve of his letterman jacket before he could walk away. “Peter. Mr. Dayton had some more scraps he wanted me to give you, from his workshop. He also asked for you to tell Yondu that he hopes that he - Yondu - is still taking good care of you.” She dug around in her bag for a moment, producing a small plastic container full of bits and pieces of metal of varying qualities, and held it out to him. Richard glanced between them, uneasy and a little more than uncertain. Peter stared at it for a moment, dumbfounded, then took it from her.

“Thanks. Dunno what I’m gonna do with it, but…” He trailed off, unsure of what the “but” was. “You kids have fun now.”

“You’re not my brother, Peter,” she shot back, though there was a smile in her voice as she said it. The two of them made their way off the field, Richard’s hand firmly resting on the small of her back. He turned to shoot Peter one last lingering, perplexed stare, then pressed a kiss to the side of Gamora’s head, both of them eventually disappearing from sight.

Mantis clicked her tongue. “Don’t,” Peter repeated.

“I did not say anything,” she hummed, reaching into his bag despite his protests. She pulled the Walkman out once more and pressed play. The two of them ate in conversational silence, and the music carried on.

_Billy...Billy, don't you lose my number_

_Because you're not anywhere that I can find you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The anonymous request was for more of the Peter/Gamora/Richard love triangle in this 'verse, though they didn't specify when in the timeline, so I hope a high school-era drabble is okay! I also don't remember if I ever clarified when and how long Gamora and Richard dated - I skimmed the original fic but didn't see anything definitive aside from them being broken up by the time of senior prom - so I hope I didn't break my own continuity.
> 
> The song in this chapter is [Don't Lose My Number](https://open.spotify.com/track/2ZIzyHDYsXIHUojfr6bAbO?si=g5lFpfWHRV6XKlUAe08ZTQ) by Phil Collins, which has been stuck in my head for months as it is my spin instructor's absolute favorite song to include in her 80s-themed rides (at least it wasn't Sussudio). Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos would be much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed :)


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